


you're holy to me

by shoutz



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fighting, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, champion keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:50:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutz/pseuds/shoutz
Summary: Shiro said he would never give up on Keith. He intends to keep that promise, no matter the cost.Shiro expects them to kill him on sight. He’s a traitor, an enemy proven time and time again to be untrustworthy. The first time they treated him with anything resembling mercy, he got away with a new weapon for an arm and five lions called Voltron at his beck and call. The second time, they sent him to a desolate planet to become food for innumerable monstrous creatures, and once again he lived. Shiro doesn’t expect they’ll toy with their prey this time.Shiro is so, so wrong.





	you're holy to me

**Author's Note:**

> Insipred by and title from [Church](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kd1hIwS2U-Q).

Shiro expects them to kill him on sight. He’s a traitor, an enemy proven time and time again to be untrustworthy. The first time they treated him with anything resembling mercy, he got away with a new weapon for an arm and five lions called Voltron at his beck and call. The second time, they sent him to a desolate planet to become food for innumerable monstrous creatures, and once again he lived. Shiro doesn’t expect they’ll toy with their prey this time.

Shiro is so, so wrong.

Of course, he didn’t expect this to be a quick ordeal. With his history, he knew he was going to have to fight; he came into this prepared and willing to struggle tooth and nail for his life, for any chance to get out of this hell and see his friends again. But this… This is entirely different.

They bring him in chains and a muzzle. It’s sickening and familiar and there’s nothing to stop the panic, the flashbacks to a time when his right arm was still his own. The time when there was no scar cut into the ridge of his nose beneath the muzzle’s metal edge just yet. He chokes on the tightness in his chest, forcing his feet to trudge forward one after another as the guards drag him along.

He finds the strength to tamp down his fear, to push past and focus, and… He’s seen this corridor before. They all look the same on these ships, honestly, but the resemblance is far too eerie to be coincidental. The memories and the instinctual terror are far too potent for this to be just another hallway.

Eyes wide, he starts thrashing against his bonds. Sounds of effort and panic bubble out of his lungs but the muzzle mutes the noise. One of the guards pulls their side of the chain taut, yanking Shiro off-balance, quickening his pace.

“Quiet, prisoner,” and Shiro tries, but the noise of his struggle bounces down the hall to a doorway opening to blinding lights. He tries to breathe, tries to think — _can I survive this time?_

The mounting panic attack dulls itself to a low roar as they usher him into the blinding lights of the arena.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, as usual. The lights were never very forgiving.

He wishes they had blinded him for a little longer.

_The arena._

The butt of a blaster smacks into his shoulder blades, sending him stumbling forward into the arena proper. The dust of the floor hangs thick in the air, creeping its way into his lungs as he tries to gauge his surroundings past the cloying panic. He scrambles to his feet and tries to push his way back through the corridor and away from this godforsaken place but the sentries push him back, an impenetrable wall of soldier.

It’s so vastly different than the other times he’s had to fight here. Before, he wasn’t restrained so heavily. Before, they hadn’t escorted him out, only opened a door and sounded the horn.

And before, he had never been so shaken. So terrified.

One of his escorts grips his shoulders and spins him away from the doors as they slide shut, shoving him forward once again onto his hands and knees. He coughs, sputtering, as his brain tries to shut itself down. The roaring cacophony invades his senses, filling his head with white noise that overwhelms him like a wave. His prisoner’s garb suddenly clings too tight to his skin, overheating beneath the oppressive lights, and his heart flutters like a hummingbird’s wings. Shiro wonders if this is where he will die.

_No,_ he thinks, and it’s abrupt enough to pull him out of his panic by inches. _They couldn’t kill the Champion the first time around, and they won’t kill me this time either._ Shiro pulls his thoughts into focus, shoving his trauma back into the shadows. This isn’t his time. If he’s going to die, it won’t be here.

With luck, it’ll be several years in the future, when they’re old and far past all this war and violence, on Earth where they belong.

With Keith by his side.

It’s a thought that has him standing up again, staggering upright with a struggle, his hands still bound in front of him. It’s a thought that has him squinting at the few figures standing on the other side of the ring. _Weird,_ he thinks, _usually it’s just one person._ _Do I have to fight all of them?_ Apprehension rises, fight vastly overwhelming flight now that he’s steeled his nerves, but he tamps it down with the practiced ease of someone called Champion in an alien battle arena.

_I can do this, I can do this, I can do this._ In his mind’s eye, he sees Keith’s smile. It’s soft at the edges, eyes full of an undeserved reverence. It’s enough to keep him upright, keep him from hyperventilating and letting the panic take full control. His eyes shine, the corners wrinkling as his grin widens. Dark hair falls in front of his beautiful eyes and Shiro has half a mind to run a hand through it — one made of flesh and blood and bone — before he returns to the jarring present.

He squints at the far away figures, counting two shorter ones flanked by a few larger guards. As his vision adjusts, he identifies the unmistakable visage of the witch: hunched back, thin white hair, dark robes hanging low enough to drag in the dirt. The other…

He doesn’t have time to see before he’s being shoved forward once again by the guards at his back. “Get moving,” one of them grunts, and Shiro obeys.

His muscles are still protesting movement after so long compacted in such a small cell, and the manhandling isn’t doing him any favors. His calves and thighs burn with movement, his shoulders ache with tightness, and his joints pop as he walks. He wonders briefly if he’ll be able to fight in this shape, but he has to push past that if he’s going to get out of this arena with his life. If he’s going to see the end of this war. If he’s going to grow old in a desert cabin alongside the love of his life.

He makes it about halfway across to his opponent before he figures out who exactly it is he’s facing.

The realization makes his blood run cold.

He freezes in place but the guards shove him forward. His whole body is stunned, so instead of stumbling closer to his opponent, he falls forward onto his hands and knees again.

The nuzzle of a blaster presses roughly into the back of his head, pushing it down into the dirt as a guard looms over him.

“You will not get the chance to fight if you keep disobeying orders, _prisoner_ ,” the guard spits into his ear, growling like some sort of animal.

“Guards, you are dismissed.” The witch’s voice hisses across the clearing of the arena, but it’s clear enough to be heard. The cold metal of the blaster retreats, as do the shadows looming over his body. Shiro refuses to look up as the two shorter figures stalk forward.

“Stand, Champion. Face the opponent that will be your undoing.”

He obeys. It’s automatic; obey the witch, or die. It’s an instinct that’s kept him alive through years of experiments and fighting. He’s hoping it’ll do him one last favor. The din of the crowd accompanies his struggle to his feet, covers up the sound of his gasp once he’s upright again. Despite this, he’s sure the shattering of his heart can be heard throughout the entire galaxy.

“I have created a new Champion. One who’s more… obedient. Perhaps you’ll learn your manners from him. And if not, well, as an old Champion is felled, a new one will rise.”

Shiro resists the urge to double over and vomit, but he can’t take his eyes off the silent figure standing next to the witch.

He has piercing yellow eyes and purple markings on the sides of his face, but now that Shiro is closer, Keith’s presence is unmistakable. He stands taller than usual, stoic, with a broad chest and shoulders — did he grow a few inches since his capture? His hair is longer as well, still dark and probably just as soft as it always is. Shiro tries not to imagine brushing away the ends that hang longer than usual, but not quite obscuring his vision.

His eyes bore into Shiro but they don’t seem to truly see him. They lack the softness, the vulnerability he only exhibits around Shiro. They lack the fight that would usually accompany being held captive by the witch and the Galra Empire. In place of all the familiarity is a sickening yellow glow matching that of the other Galra populating the arena.

Keith has always been a fire, passionate in everything he does without exception, but this version of him is as cold as the vast emptiness of space. Shiro has to wonder if Keith can actually see him, if he truly understands. Does he remember? The Garrison, Voltron, and everything in between… Did Haggar take all of that away from them? Did she leave behind this shell of a man, the man Shiro loves?

Shiro tries to call out to him, as he’s done so many times before, but the muzzle holds his jaw shut. The only sound that escapes is a panicked, pained hum that tries and fails to take the form of Keith’s name. Shiro wonders if it carries across to Keith’s ears, wonders if it sparks any small amount of recognition.

“He looks slightly different, but he is still the Red Paladin you knew. The quintessence has simply enhanced him, _erased_ his mounting weaknesses. His Galra parentage makes him superior, and the quintessence multiplied that tenfold.” She turns her gaze on Keith, who is still watching Shiro with a blank expression. “Though you responded to the quintessence in your arm rather well for a human, there’s nothing that can compare to true Galra blood.”

A memory resurfaces, unbidden, and invades Shiro’s consciousness.

Purple lights cast their glow across a sterile, cold, unforgiving training arena, made of metal instead of dirt. Keith’s body hits the ground with a dull _thud_ that he can hear from his perch in the observation deck. The Blades of Marmora don’t try to stop him as he sprints towards the stairs and through the door.

Crashes and noises of destruction sound from everywhere at once as the base shakes around him. Bits of debris fall from the ceiling, pattering off his helmet, but he has more pressing matters to attend. He sprints faster, single-minded in his focus.

_Keith._

Shiro bursts through the doors and rushes towards the body still lying limp on the ground. The Blade suit makes him look so much different, hugging his muscles in ways the Paladin suits only obscure. Without his helmet, his hair fans out around him, and if it weren’t for the bruises and what Shiro had seen him do before this, he could almost be sleeping.

Shiro’s heart struggles to keep up.

Keith’s eyes finally open, and Shiro hurries to help him up.

“Keith, are you okay?” He tries and fails to keep the worry from his tone.

Keith clutches at Shiro’s shoulders to stay upright, and Shiro wraps an arm around his back. He opens his mouth to answer, but the door on the opposite side of the training hall opens and he’s interrupted by the patter of a dozen feet.

“Stop what you’re doing!”

“What are you talking about?” Keith asks, and there’s another crash. Bits of ceiling fall around them as the whole asteroid quakes. “What’s going on?”

“Call off your beast!” Kolivan yells, but a rage ignites itself in Shiro’s chest, full of fierce protectiveness for the body hanging limp off his shoulder.

“Move out of the way! We’re leaving!”

“You’re not leaving with that blade.” _God, not that shit again,_ Shiro thinks, and gritted teeth are all that keep his tongue from saying out loud. “It does not belong to you. You failed to awaken it!”

“What does that mean?” Keith asks, but they’re not having any of it.

“Give up the blade!” One of them growls, unsheathing their sword and charging forward.

Shiro tenses and prepares for a fight. He really, truly didn’t want it to come to this, but it’s Keith. It’s _Keith._ Shiro shrugs him off gently, before igniting his arm and rushing forward.

They clash together in a shrill _clang._ It’s the Blade’s sword against Shiro’s arm, and Shiro can feel his adrenaline doubling its efforts. His teeth are clenched and his eyes are focused.

“Wait!” Shiro hears from behind him, and freezes. “Just take the knife!”

Shiro and the Blade immediately lower their weapons and look to Keith. He’s holding the knife hilt-first towards Kolivan, and there’s a bone-deep exhaustion in his eyes. The clamor around them, the base shaking, comes to a still silence.

“It doesn’t matter where I come from. I know who I am.”

Shiro’s heart clenches where it sits beneath his ribs. Seeing him now, after knowing the lost, scruffy kid he once was… It’s almost too much.

It’s in this moment Shiro unequivocally knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’s in love with Keith. There had been inklings of it before: back on earth, when he had crashed and woke up to the most familiar pair of blue eyes; before he had even left, out on the launch site. But now, it hits him like a truck at light-speed.

“We all need to work together to defeat Zarkon. If that means I give up this knife, fine. Take it.”

A purple glow fills the room, blinds Shiro for a moment. Someone exclaims something from behind him, but he can’t be bothered to care.

He sees Keith, face full of shock and a breathless sort of awe, and he's never been more proud.

Shiro is blinded by that same purple light again, as it turns into a sword before his eyes. But now, he fears the intent behind it. He fears the ones that blade is working for. And most of all, he fears the look in the eyes of the one holding it.

“Your first task as Champion of the Galra Empire is to end the Black Paladin’s life.” Haggar spares Shiro one last glance, smirking. “Make it painful.”

The witch signals all the guards to back away, leaving only Shiro and Keith in the arena. Shiro stands and backs away as Keith advances on him. He doesn’t look angry, nor does he seem particularly malicious towards Shiro. He’s just… vacant. Not there. Shiro stumbles over his own feet, nearly falling into the dirt, but unable to look away from him.

_“Keith… Keith, it’s me, please…”_ he tries, but the muzzle turns his words into unintelligible noises. Keith doesn’t slow down, nor does he seem to hear Shiro as he tries to talk sense into him.

Years of memories rush through him, years of something that was too close to love for comfort. It had crept up on him, like falling asleep; he didn’t know how far he had fallen for Keith until he was drowning in it. Only to culminate in… this. A fight for his life that he’s not quite willing to win. Not if it means losing Keith.

Shiro retreats until he feels the rocky wall of the arena hit his back. With nowhere left to run, Keith reaches forward and grabs Shiro by the shoulder before shoving him back into the middle of the arena. He falls to his knees, still bound at the wrists by chains, unable to catch his balance or defend himself.

Keith raises his sword to bring it down in a vicious arc, but Shiro barely pivots to the side in time for it to slice through his bonds instead of his skin. The chains snap with the force of his attack, clinking to the ground as Shiro stands and retreats once again.

“Keith! I know you’re in there!” he says once the muzzle is removed and discarded. Keith lunges forward with another strike and Shiro barely jumps out of the way, still unwilling to actually engage him in combat. “Please! You don’t have to do this!”

He remains silent, empty of emotions as he chases down his prey with a relentless strength. Shiro backs up again, approaching another wall as he tries to find another way to get through to him. None of Shiro’s pleas seem to get through to him, but he can’t give up.

He promised.

Keith pauses, just a moment, halting his steps towards Shiro. He seems to consider Shiro for a second, before a smirk splits across his face, full of malice. His eyes remain void of emotion, and Shiro’s blood runs cold.

He rushes forward. Shiro brings his bionic arm up to block the attack, and staggers backwards with the force once it lands. Sparks fly off the impact of metal on unforgiving metal, and it takes most of Shiro’s strength to shove him back. Keith wastes no time in closing the distance between them with another attack that Shiro struggles to parry out of the way.

Shiro stays on the defensive as much as he can. His old arena instincts scream at him to fight back, to counter, to win, but with Keith… He can’t bring himself to do it. The idea of hurting Keith in some way, even while he’s like this, makes him dizzy with nausea. At one point, he had thought the arena had obliterated what little remained of his mercy. Back then, he had been willing to kill any and all who stood in his way, human or otherwise. He stopped at nothing, spared no one, and survived because of it. But here, he’s brought to a stark realization that this is the line he refuses to cross.

And it’ll be his death.

Keith steps forward and backhands Shiro with staggering force, sending him reeling backwards with the taste of blood on his tongue. He follows it up with an elbow slamming into Shiro’s back, hard enough to knock the air from his lungs as he falls forward onto his hands and knees. A kick lands firm against his rib cage, knocking him down into the dirt. He coughs and gags, trying to force air into his lungs.

Keith walks forward until one of his boots lands on Shiro’s flesh hand. A groan erupts unbidden from his lung as he feels the bones crack beneath the force. He pulls his hand back instinctively but the boot doesn’t budge from its place, worsening the injury tenfold. Eventually Shiro manages to pull his hand out from beneath Keith’s foot, struggling to get back to his feet and scramble away from him.

His approach is slow, measured, a step towards Shiro for each of his steps backwards. It’s as if he’s toying with his prey, prolonging the suffering for the benefit of the crowd. Or maybe for himself. It’s arrogant and malicious and something Keith would never dream of doing, especially not to Shiro of all people.

But Shiro didn’t think he’d become a murderer, either. He’s all too familiar with how the arena changes people.

He raises his sword and swings it down, slamming the pommel into Shiro’s temple. The ground rises to meet him as he collapses again in a cloud of dust. Ears ringing and head pounding, the eyes watching them all fade into an imperceptible periphery. Keith circles him like a shark, taking slow, measured steps until he’s in front of Shiro once again. He has no choice but to look up at him. At the man he loves, in all his terrible beauty.

He really is beautiful. Even now, as Shiro stares his death in the face, he can’t help but revel in it. How could he ever hurt him? How could he think to fight back? It was a losing battle once Keith was captured. Doomed from the moment Haggar decided to twist Voltron’s second in command beyond recognition.

Shiro sits back on his haunches, arms hanging limp at his sides. Keith looms tall, vacant yellow eyes looking straight through him. The lights behind him frame his head like a halo, a glowing aura of white surrounding him as he closes in. A roaring crowd surrounds them but he pays them no mind, locked in battle with his best friend. They want it to be bloodier, a more violent struggle between the two Paladins, but they won’t get it. Shiro sits kneeling before Keith, as if in prayer, the fight drained from his muscles entirely. He looks up, not caring about his exposed neck even the slightest. If this is to be his end, he wants his last memories to be of Keith: his strength, his willpower, his loyalty and love.

He can almost accept a death by Keith’s hands.

And that’s what it was all along, now that he stops to consider. Love. The words sit on the tip of his tongue, a confession long overdue, but the words stick in his throat like sand as Keith raises his sword.

“Keith…” His last plea escapes in a breath, a whisper barely audible over the displeased shouts of the arena’s crowd. Meant only for him, and for Keith. He gives himself freely, willingly looking his death in the eye.

“I love you.”

Keith hesitates. In an instant, one glorious moment suspended in time, his eyes are no longer vacant and his mouth loses its twisted smirk. He blinks. The yellow fades from his eyes, but the purple markings remain. He softens, lowering his sword the smallest amount as he comes to his senses.

“Shiro?”

_“End it! End him!"_ They can hear Haggar’s command over the din of the crowd. She stands in the viewing booth normally reserved for Zarkon and his esteemed guests, closer to the fight than the rest of the seats surrounding the arena. Keith glances in her direction for a brief moment before returning to Shiro. His sword flashes bright before changing back into a dagger as he lowers it. Fear rolls off him in waves as he takes in the scene. As he realizes what he narrowly avoided.

“We have to get out of here.”

Keith reaches out towards Shiro, who takes his hand immediately and struggles back to his feet. His head throbs with every movement and his ribs ache, no doubt cracked or at least bruised, but it’s not something he can worry about. His sole focus is getting Keith out of here alive, whatever it takes.

They run towards the gates through which Shiro entered, Shiro’s arm and broken hand slung across Keith’s shoulders as they try to make their escape. The roar of the crowd is deafening as Shiro activates his hand, slicing through the metal gates that had closed behind him, locking him into combat with Keith.

It takes a few slashes, but eventually the metal falls away and they rush down the hallway.

_“No!”_ They hear Haggar’s scream echo through the hallway as they approach another set of sealed doors. Shiro and Keith turn to see Haggar’s silhouetted form standing in the doorway, seething with anger.

Before either of them can react, Haggar sends a bolt of black energy towards the two of them. It crashes into the wall above them Rubble falls and blocks their path out of the arena. “Neither of you will leave this place alive!” Another bolt manifests from her hands and shoots towards them, landing firmly in Shiro’s side. He yells, collapses further into Keith as the pain sears through his torso.

“Shiro!” Keith’s voice cracks as he yells, holding him closer and trying to soothe some of the pain. Shiro barely finds the strength to look up at him, to see him wide-eyed and panicked. He looks frantically around, desperate for an escape, before dragging a half-conscious Shiro along as he climbs the rubble and into the hole in the ceiling above.

Once they’re finally away from Haggar, they make a break for the nearest door they can find. They run through the halls as fast as possible with Shiro’s injuries, but before they even find a door to something other than a control room, they hear the footsteps of guards approaching.

They skid to a halt and find themselves surrounded, blasters trained on them. Keith’s arm around Shiro’s waist tightens. His fear is nearly contagious as the guards close in, visible in his eyes, his brow, the set of his jaw. Someone yells “Call the witch!” as Shiro’s bionic hand ignites, ready for a fight.

Before the first shot can even be fired, the whole base shakes with an impact. Dust and debris falls from the ceiling, throwing the standoff into complete chaos.

Another crash sends chunks of the ceiling falling around them. It’s followed by another, and another, both in rapid succession. There’s barely time for the dust to settle around them before the final and most devastating crash collapses the roof over their heads, burying them beneath the wreckage.

Moments later, Shiro finds himself being dragged from beneath a piece of metal that used to be the ceiling. With almost herculean strength, Keith heaves and grunts and pulls until Shiro is free, laying among the rubble. Strength sapped from his injuries, Shiro is unable to move.

Shiro looks up at Keith as he tries to pull him to safety, at the dark sky dotted with faint stars above him, before losing consciousness completely.

**Author's Note:**

> i got halfway through this before realizing it’s basically roleswapped s6e5 in a different context even though i started it 6 months before the season came out. neat!
> 
> come yell at me @ shoutzwastaken on [twitter](http://twitter.com/shoutzwastaken) or [tumblr](http://shoutzwastaken.tumblr.com)


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